


Kiss Me, I'm Shitfaced

by gimmefire



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Drunkenness, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-12
Updated: 2010-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:59:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmefire/pseuds/gimmefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"What time is it?"</i>
</p><p> Time I kissed you, <i>Felipe thinks...</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me, I'm Shitfaced

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of those daft unoriginal scenes you end up with in your head that you don't really intend to write. But LO, here it is! Title swiped from a Dropkick Murphys song. Beta by [mackem](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mackem). My jubblies are hers alone.

Felipe's drunk. Not something worth writing home about in itself, but Rob is drunk too. More to the point, he's more drunk than Felipe. Drunk enough to need a bit of help back to his hotel room in the wee small hours, and Felipe is just drunk enough to maybe do something stupid, perhaps inadvisable. He's not really thinking too deeply about that, because Rob's arm is draped heavily over his shoulder and they're both leaning against the back wall of the lift. He feels warm and Rob feels warm against him and it feels good. Really good.

The lift eases to a halt. "Level 6," the disembodied voice says helpfully as the doors coast open.

"This is me," Rob drawls and lurches forward with more momentum than was perhaps intended. "Woah," he says quietly, and it's entirely up to Felipe to keep them both from tumbling to the floor or staggering into the opposite wall. He manages it, barely, and they totter down the corridor together towards Rob's room. "Fuckin' 'ell," Rob chuckles sheepishly.

Once the complicated task of the keycard/door interface is completed – something which bears much unnecessary laughter, less than serious hisses to keep quiet and idle accusations of one another being rubbish – Felipe guides Rob as best he can to slump down onto the sofa, the arm still across his shoulder seemingly insisting that he slump down with him. Then again, it's Rob. He really doesn't mind too much.

He minds even less when Rob leans heavily against him, less still when he squirms and fidgets until he's lying with his head resting in Felipe's lap. When his eyes slip closed, Felipe's hand tentatively comes to rest on his chest. Rob doesn't react and Felipe exhales.

"Was a good night," Rob mumbles.

Felipe blinks slowly, eyes fixed on Rob's face. "Yes."

"What time is it?"

 _Time I kissed you,_ Felipe thinks, and he laughs. "I don't know."

Rob's eyes crack open, slivers of blue. "What's funny?"

"Just a drinking laugh," Felipe shrugs, biting his lip. He clumsily corrects himself. "A drinking-- a _drunk_ laugh."

"You laugh at nothing when you're drunk?"

"I think I do!"

"Daft git," Rob says with a tired grin.

Felipe wants to kiss him. He feels it in his gut, feels it gnaw at him, feels the ache in his chest that spreads across his shoulders and makes his heart thud with extra purpose. He wonders if it would be okay to tell Rob he's in love with him. He isn't – well, he thinks he isn't, but he's becoming less and less sure of that with every passing day – but the words play on his tongue, tease him, threaten to pass his lips. Rob might not remember by the morning, but then again he might. Maybe he feels the same, maybe he doesn't. Maybe Felipe will kiss him and whisper it. _I'm in love with you. I'm in—_

"What you doing?"

Felipe blinks, slowly pulling himself from his train of thought. He shakes his head dumbly.

Rob's head rocks slightly towards Felipe. "You were mouthing something."

_I'm in love with you._

Heat creeps into Felipe's cheeks. He can't think of an answer. "I should go to my room," he says softly.

"Mm," Rob eventually hums, not pursuing it further. Maybe, _maybe_ Felipe is projecting, but that hadn't sounded a whole lot like a hum of agreement. A niggling self-doubt tells him it hadn't sounded like a disagreement either, but then Rob moves against him, turning onto his side and draping an arm across his legs, and his skin tingles with just how warmsolidclose _there_ Rob is. Felipe isn't sure whether to tangle himself in limbs and clothes and scent, or to be still and try to burn this moment into his memory.

"Your room?" Rob mumbles – perhaps it took a few moments for Felipe's words to process – and he moves again. Felipe's hand slides off him as he slopes up, and reluctantly the Brazilian follows him to his feet, inwardly acknowledging that the moment has gone. He's more than a little surprised, then, when Rob takes hold of his wrist and leads him towards bedroom.

Stopping at the foot of the bed, Rob scratches his head with his free hand rather vigorously; it reminds Felipe of a puppy.

"'S a bed here," Rob says matter-of-factly. The words hit Felipe like a shockwave, and from the heat in his cheeks he has to wonder if his whole face has turned crimson.

"Where will you s—" Felipe doesn't get to the end of his rather dazed sounding sentence because Rob slopes to the edge of the bed and rolls onto it, sprawling comfortably. His shirt rides up a bit, enough to expose the skin of his stomach, and Felipe wonders if it's at all possible for him to stop himself blushing. He glances back into the main room and wishes he was a bit more drunk. When he looks around again, Rob is watching him through hazy eyes.

"Stop fuckin' about and come 'ere," he drawls, tapping the back of his hand against the empty half of the bed. "I'm drunk, I'm not diseased."

Felipe giggles nervously. Rob's words roll around in his head, his accent seeming broader with the addition of alcohol, and he finds himself mouthing the word 'fuckin'' as Rob had said it. "Fookin'," Felipe murmurs to himself and giggles again. He sways on the spot, still uncertain. "You should have water," he ventures.

Rob lifts his head from the pillow, raising an arm and grasping at the air. " _Get in bed_ ," he says insistently, a comical exasperation to his demeanour.

Unable to think of anything else to say and with his heart hammering in his chest, Felipe finally approaches the empty side of the bed. If this were his room he'd be pushing his discarded clothes off the bed, peeling off his shirt, undoing his jeans...but here his fingers touch the hem of his shirt, and he thinks better of it; he only unbuckles his belt and pulls it from its denim loops. He hasn't slept in his clothes in a long time...

"Were you takin' the piss out of my accent?" Rob asks, eyeing him as he eases gingerly onto the bed.

"You're slow."

"I'm drunk."

"Droonk," Felipe imitates and chuckles, the nervous tension in his stomach easing a little. He wriggles on the bed, tugging at his jeans until they don't feel quite so twisted and constricting, and tries not to think about how he's lying next to a work colleague, the object of his growing affections, and a very drunk and possibly suggestible man. On a bed.

"One day I'm gonna make a list of all the things you don't say properly," Rob vows. Felipe feels Rob's eyes on him and for some reason he does his best not to look around; all this is starting to feel too close, too much without being able to touch, taste or take. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and chews it, analysing the ceiling carefully.

"You alright?" Rob asks.

Felipe nods, still not looking around, feeling that ache in his chest. When Rob speaks again, the words sound a lot softer and more considered than the words of a massively drunk man have any right to sound.

"If this is weird, you don't have to stay, y'know."

Now Felipe looks around, mumbling a slightly embarrassed "N-no," as he's caught in the hazy blue of Rob's eyes. "I stay," he clarifies, just barely, and shifts closer to the Englishman, almost by way of apology. Rob replies with a lazy grin and moves closer himself, close enough that he can lean his head over and rest his cheek against Felipe's head.

"Fuckin' great, you are," Rob drawls, apropos of seemingly nothing, and plants a noisy kiss on Felipe's forehead.

Somewhere between the sight of that grin blooming on Rob's face and the press of his lips, all warmth and stubble and fondness that he doesn't know if he should be reading into, the persistent ache in Felipe's body sharpens into a pain. His eyebrows knit into a frown and he pushes himself up onto his elbows.

"You don't have to be so..." the English word escapes him and he scowls in frustration. He looks at Rob, who's nonplussed. "With affection, you know?"

"Alright," Rob responds quietly after a moment, looking chastised.

"No!" Felipe exclaims, suddenly annoyed. This is all going wrong, his words are coming out wrong, but he's damned if he's not going to forge ahead and find a way to be clear. The next emphatic words arrive at his lips before he has a chance to consider them. " _I want to kiss you._ "

He's actually rather offended when Rob laughs. He _laughs!_

"It isn't _funny_!"

Rob bites his lip, but his silly smile stays in place. He gives a slow, sleepy blink. "Go on, then," he murmurs.

Felipe is about to make his annoyance known again when Rob's words process. The bed squeaks beneath him as he vigorously turns over, frown still etched across his brow, cups Rob's face with both hands and crushes their lips together. It's unromantic and messy and his jeans are all twisted and Rob's in no fit state to properly reciprocate, but Felipe kisses him, tastes him, moans when he feels Rob's hands on him and wonders why he waited so long for this.

He breaks contact momentarily, clambering over Rob to straddle his hips, his movements fervent, hands fisting into shirt fabric. Felipe fastens his mouth to Rob's throat and sucks hard until a moan vibrates against his lips and he feels clumsy hands paw at his thighs. He bites down, eyes dark with lust, and the sound of Rob's gasps is enough to make him light-headed. He wants to leave a bruise, wants to see a mark that'll set off whispers in the paddock. He searches out Rob's mouth again and he wants—

"'m too drunk," Rob mutters against Felipe's lips, and the Brazilian slows to a stop, brain catching up with reality.

 _Too drunk for this,_ Felipe thinks on Rob's behalf.

After taking a moment to collect himself – desire still coursing through him with a wicked, compelling heat – he dips his head and nods into Rob's skin. He pushes himself up, hands pressing into the cool fabric either side of Rob's shoulders. Rob's cheeks are flushed, his hair gloriously unkempt and spread against the pillow, his lips slightly parted as his breathing returns to normal, his half closed eyes greyish-blue and looking back at him with a shimmer of languid desire.

Felipe blinks slowly and deliberately to clear his head.

"You think that you'll remember this tomorrow?" he asks tentatively. He's not sure which answer he'd like to hear.

Rob presses his lips together, licks them, and shrugs loosely. It doesn't feel like a dismissive gesture. "If you stay, it might help," he says, looking Felipe up and down.

"I stay," Felipe replies softly.

He sits up and fights his way out of his shirt, rolling off of Rob and squirming out of his jeans shortly afterwards, any notions of shyness now thoroughly wiped out. He's starting to feel more sober than he'd like to, but the need for sleep is thankfully also making itself known. Rob doesn't bother stripping off, nor does he follow Felipe under the covers; in fact he hasn't really moved much from where he'd initially flopped down on the bed.

When Felipe has settled, curled up on his side, quiet descends on the room. He watches Rob doze through half closed eyes.

Rob stretches his arms out in front of him, grunting when his shoulder clicks, and exhales loudly on letting them drop back down. "I like how you kiss," he mumbles, eyes closed.

 _You should see how I do other things,_ Felipe thinks. The thought bubbles up inside him, giving way to a stupid giggle.

"You laughing at nothing again?"

Felipe bites his lip as he fondly regards the drowsy man, his grin breaking through regardless. He feels warm again, but this time it's not because of the alcohol, and there's an inkling somewhere in him that he really, truly wants Rob to remember all this in the morning, but he doesn't give any of that too much thought. His eyes come to focus on the still reddened skin at Rob's throat. There might be a bruise there by morning...

"Maybe."


End file.
